Which bloody f**ing ones of these are pieces of me?
The entire goddamn street is scattered with me.
What the hell was I thinking?
As if I would not get my a** whooped black and blue by singing those things out loud.
A break in the clouds.
A pitiful excuse for a go signal.
No one really wants anything different.
So let me just get my sh** together, gather my limbs, broken gla**es and teeth, spit the metal out of my mouth and get real.
No, no.
This is not...definitely not a problem.
More like a situation.
Let me just walk the f** away from here.
As far as possible from the mercury street.